


“I could use the company.”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Kisses [22]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15109250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Continuing the series of shorts of possible first kisses between these two. Got a few ideas. Feel free to submit prompts for anything you’d like to see in the comments below or over on Tumblr at lulacat3.





	“I could use the company.”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladiladida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladiladida/gifts).



> A gift for Ladiladida. Thank you for the prompt!
> 
> “Can I please request a prompt, mine’s a bit sadder in tone. Robin comforts Strike after 20 years of his mum’s passing. I know it’s a few years on.”

 

When Robin arrived at the office and took Strike’s coffee through to him, he was already immersed in work and had been for some time by the looks of things. Papers were spread out across the desk and files piled on one end, the ashtray overflowing and the office fuggy despite the open window. Robin knew him well enough by now to know that something was on his mind if he was this determined to throw himself into his work, but she had never pried into his personal thoughts before and she wasn’t about to start now. She put his coffee and the post on his desk and smiled at him and withdrew. He gave a polite thanks but didn’t really look at her, distracted. The door dividing their two offices had been closed, unusually, when she arrived, so she closed it again as she went out.

She began to wonder through the day if he had something personal going on. His mobile rang several times, and she heard him talking in a low voice from the other office, never for very long. Determined not to be nosy, she squashed down her curiosity. They spent so much time together these days with various cases, it was odd to remember that there was a whole non-work side of him that she never saw.

He went out at lunchtime, just saying that he was going for lunch but giving no details of where or with whom. Robin began to wonder if he had met someone. That might explain the phone calls and mysterious lunch. He didn’t seem happier than usual, though. If anything he seemed... pensive, distracted. She concentrated on her own work, determined not to think about it.

He returned from lunch looking irritated and went straight back to work without lingering to chat as he usually did.

Robin was trying very hard now not to wonder what was up, but no more clues were forthcoming, and he left on the dot of five, which he never did, and went down the stairs rather than up to his flat. She decided to linger a little longer to finish her last lot of notes and see if he came back.

Steps sounded on the stairs presently, and she looked up as a figure approached the door, but she could see it wasn’t Strike. A quick knock and then Shanker poked his head round the door. He grinned at her. Shanker had a soft spot for Robin.

“All right?” he said, and she smiled at him.

“Hi Shanker,” she said. “What brings you here?”

He nodded towards Strike’s office. “Bunsen in?” he asked, vaguely waving a bag with cans of beer in it. Robin shook her head.

“You’ve just missed him,” she said.

“Ah, I’ll meet him there,” Shanker said. “Got to grab some flowers on the way. See ya.”

“Um...” Robin hesitated, and Shanker waited, looking at her. She didn’t know how to ask what she wanted to ask, but she was a little worried now. “Is... is he okay?”

Shanker grinned a toothy grin. “That’s what I’m gonna find out,” he said. “Tough day for ‘im, but you never know with that one. Keeps his cards close to his chest.”

Robin just looked at him, confused.

Realisation dawned. “He ‘asn’t told you,” Shanker said. “He is keeping quiet. It’s the anniversary today, the day Leda died. We don’t normally do much, but it’s 20 years. Doesn’t seem possible.”

“Oh...” Robin said. “I wondered what was going on. He had loads of phone calls and went out for a lunch that he didn’t seem to enjoy.”

“That woulda been Lucy,” Shanker said. “She always tries to make a big dramatic thing about it, pisses him off. And one of the calls was me. I’d better go, we’re gonna raise a beer to her at the cemetery.”

“Okay,” Robin said, wondering if she should say “give him my love” or something, but if Strike had wanted her to know about this, he’d have told her.

Shanker left and she sat, feeling a little sad. She would have thought that by now Strike might have confided in her, but it was his business and he was habitually closed-lipped about personal stuff. She couldn’t decide whether to linger in the office and wait or not. She did a little more work, but eventually, reluctantly, decided to go. She packed up and headed down the stairs.

She found her footsteps turning, though, not in the direction of home but towards the Tottenham. What are you doing, she asked herself. He’s not even there. And of course he wasn’t. She bought a small glass of wine and chose a quiet table at the back.

She waited, although she wasn’t sure what for. She was pretty sure Strike didn’t drink in here with Shanker. She just... wanted to be nearby. She found an abandoned Evening Standard and began reading.

After a while her phone pinged and she jumped. She glanced at it and her heart skipped a beat. It was Strike.

“You gone home yet? Fancy a drink? I could use the company.”

Smiling softly, she texted back. “I’m already in the Tottenham. There’ll be a pint waiting for you.” And she went to order the drinks.

He arrived ten minutes later, looking a little more relaxed than he had done, yet weary somehow. She just wanted to wrap her arms around him.

Stuff it, she thought, uncharacteristically bold, and stood and hugged him as he arrived at the table. He paused, startled, but then hugged her back, and she felt him sigh against her as she squeezed him briefly. She stepped back.

“Someone’s filled you in, then,” he said, taking his seat and reaching for his pint. “Thanks for this.”

“Shanker came to the office looking for you,” she said. “But I figured something was up. You were quiet even by your standards,” and she winked at him.

He smiled. “Sorry I didn’t say anything,” he said. “I just get so pissed off with everyone rallying round, expecting me to feel a certain way or say a certain thing, and Lucy with the weeping.” He sighed, frustrated. “I’m aware that makes me sound like an ungrateful tosser. They’re just looking out for me, and Lucy needs the support too.”

He smiled at her again. “I should have known you wouldn’t do any of that, though.” He stopped, wondering if he was giving too much away. He’d done his dutiful lunch with his sister, endured sympathetic calls from Ilsa and Nick, weathered the less unpleasant ritual of a can of beer at the grave with Shanker, and had been intending to go home, but suddenly found himself longing to see Robin, the only person whose company he could stand right now, who wouldn’t look to him expecting him to be sad or angry or anything. Just accepting him, as she always had.

Robin raised her glass to his, and they clinked together. “Lucy has Greg,” she said, “and you’ve done your duty with everyone else. You can just get pissed now if you want,” and she grinned at him.

They chatted about this and that for a while, and Strike fetched more drinks. Robin giggled. “That’s my third glass,” she said. “Don’t let me have any more. Coke for me after this.” He grinned at her. “I’ll try and remind you of that later,” he said.

Relaxed and free of pressure to behave a certain way, he suddenly found he did want to talk about Leda. The conversation drifted to her, and he began to tell Robin snippets about her. Robin almost felt as though she needed to hold her breath, that this intimacy between them, this fragile peace he was finding with himself, might break if she so much as acknowledged it. She sat and listened to him quietly, drawn in to his stories, trying not to shatter the moment by saying too much.

“You know,” he mused eventually, “I’ve always told myself the anniversary doesn’t make a difference, it’s just a day like any other. But it is a hard day. I guess I should accept that and not just close myself off and be grumpy with everyone.”

She smiled softly and put her hand on his on the table. “But that’s who you are, and we love you for it,” she said.

He looked at their hands, and then up at her, his eyes soft, vulnerable, and suddenly her heart skipped again. She was holding his hand. In the pub. She was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were sitting. “Nick and Ilsa do, but they’ve known me for years,” he said quietly.

Robin looked at him, holding his gaze where once she might have looked away. “I’m learning to,” she said gently, and leaned forward and kissed him.

She hadn’t really intended it to be... She wasn’t sure what she had intended. She kissed him gently on the mouth, several times, her free hand coming up to curl around the back of his head, and then she leaned in to him, her face in his neck, hugging him. She told herself she’d meant it as a gesture of comfort, that she had been responding to that brief look of vulnerability from him, but her heart fluttered and she was trembling a little. His hand was on the side of her face now, fingers tangled in her hair, hugging her to him, and for a minute they rested against one another.

Then Strike gently drew back enough to look into her eyes again, and she read the question there and flushed. A half smile ghosted across his face, and he leaned in and kissed her again. This time there was no mistaking the meaning. His lips parted and his tongue sought hers and she responded eagerly. His mouth was warm, and desire shivered through her as his tongue slid gently against hers. She moaned a little and pressed closer, lost in the moment. All too soon, he gently pulled back again, and she remembered they were in the pub and she blushed a little.

He smiled at her. “Thank you for being here,” he said. She squeezed his hand again. “Any time.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> We have necessarily messed with the timeline a bit here, as I’m hoping these two don’t wait until they’re 40 and 30 to get together.
> 
> I hope it was comfort-y enough, I had the feeling he’d be more reflective than upset.
> 
> And happy birthday TB! :)


End file.
